


Our Time

by Everlark_Pearl



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: E-mail, F/M, Online Dating, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlark_Pearl/pseuds/Everlark_Pearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My original story for Prompts in Panem's modern day Everlark challenge: Baby Boomers Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen meet each other on an online dating website.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ThePeetaSpecial has sent you a flirt on 07/15/2012._

ThePeetaSpecial? Is this guy serious? I should just ignore it – delete the message and continue browsing this website that I agreed to pay $11.99 a month to because I'm that desperate for a fucking date. I'll just check his profile. If he doesn't fit what I'm looking for, then I'll ignore it.

 _ThePeetaSpecial_  
Age: 50  
Gender: Male  
Height: 5ft10in  
Relationship Status: Never Married  
Smoking: Non-smoker  
Body Type: Athletic  
Hair: Blond  
Eyes: Blue  
Occupation: Baker  
Looking For: Marriage  
Children: None  
Pets: Dog

Looking for marriage. There's the buzz kill. His picture doesn't look so bad, though. Maybe I'll just send a flirt back as a reward for those gorgeous blue eyes. Then again, the picture is just his face. What if the rest of him isn't as appealing? He may say he has an athletic build, but I've learned not to believe everything these guys say. He probably weighs more than five of me put together; he is a baker after all, and I bet he has a hairy back.

Oh, what the hell…

_You have sent a flirt to ThePeetaSpecial on 07/15/2012._

Maybe that'll be enough to satisfy him, and he can go off and send more flirts to other women that may also be looking for marriage over the internet, but if he's looking for that from me, he is barking up the wrong tree.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Hey  
Message: Thanks for the flirt. How are you?

So much for the flirt satisfying him. At least he isn't getting creepy… yet, like that one guy that was asking for nude pictures before I even answered him.

 _Send message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: Thanks for sending me one first. I'm good… you?

I hope that first sentence doesn't come off as flirty; I just didn't want to be rude. Oh, fuck… there he is again. Doesn't he have cupcakes to bake or something? I guess the same could be said for me though; I'm sitting here replying quickly too.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: Can't complain, especially after reading your profile. Personal trainer, huh? Impressive.

Here we go. He's opening that door to talk about my body. I should change my profile and take my job off of there, maybe it'll keep these fucking perverts away.

 _Keverdeen62_  
Age: 50  
Height: 5ft3in  
Relationship Status: Never married  
Smoking: Non-smoker  
Body Type: Athletic  
Hair: Brown  
Eyes: Gray  
Occupation: Personal Trainer/Nutritionist  
Looking For: Casual relationship  
Children: None  
Pets: None

At least he didn't talk about being a 50 year old personal trainer. I'm really fucking tired of hearing how crazy that one is.

 _Message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: Yep. Since college. I'm surprised you didn't make some remark on my age. Everyone does.

I should have changed the subject. Or ignored him. I don't even know why I'm still entertaining this guy, I'm only going to disappoint him in the end when I tell him he's not what I'm looking for and he's not what I need. I don't have time to get serious with anyone, but I don't want to become a nun either.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: Why would I say something like that? I'm sure your job keeps you young. Mine does.

What the hell would a baker have to do to stay young? Crack eggs into a bowl? Maybe if I call him out he'll leave me alone.

 _Message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: How does working at a bakery keep you young?

There. Explain that one, Muffin Man. He probably sits around eating pastries all day.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: Contrary to popular belief, I don't sit around eating pastries all day. In fact, I don't even have a stock person hired. I move all supplies myself. Bulk sized bags of flour are just as good as benching 150lbs.

Well damn. I didn't even know they made bulk bags of flour. And he doesn't have a stock person hired? He sounds pretty important at that bakery.

 _Message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: So you're in charge of hiring at the bakery? Are you a manager or something?

I'm going to take a shower. Let him wait a little while for me to read his message and reply. I don't want him to think I'm sitting around waiting for his messages, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. He wants marriage, Katniss. Stop. Go take your shower.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: I own the bakery.

Well that was right to the point. I'll send one more message and then I'm going to bed. I'm not going to be dragging ass with my client at 6am just so I can talk to ol' blue eyes here.

 _Message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/15/2012  
Subject: Re: Hey  
Message: I didn't realize you owned a bakery. I thought when your profile said baker that you maybe worked at Panera for a few months and started calling yourself one. I'm going to turn in for the night. I have a training session at 6am. Goodnight.

Why did I just tell him I was going to bed? He doesn't need to know that. I should have let him stew for a while and wonder why I'm not answering him.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/16/2012  
Subject: Good Morning  
Message: Good morning. I hope you have a nice day. Don't work too hard ;)

This guy cannot be serious. I think it's time to cut this one off.

 _Message to: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/16/2012  
Subject: Re: Good Morning  
Message: You did notice that my profile says I'm only looking for casual relationships, right? I don't want you to think I'm leading you on or anything, but I'm not looking for anything serious.

There. Now maybe he'll fuck off and stop sending me good morning messages. Jesus, who does he think he is, Casanova?

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Sent: 07/16/2012  
Subject: Re: Good Morning  
Message: Yes, I know that. Don't worry… you're not the only person I'm talking to.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I should just stop right here. Let him go talk to those other bitches.

_ThePeetaSpecial wants to chat with you._

Oh my God. What the hell is this now? Messages weren't enough?

 _ThePeetaSpecial: Hey_  
Keverdeen62: Hi  
ThePeetaSpecial: How's your evening going?  
Keverdeen62: Not so bad. Very tired though. How about yours?  
ThePeetaSpecial: Pretty painless. Do you want me to let you go? You said you're tired.  
Keverdeen62: No it's fine. I have laundry drying that I have to wait for.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Ok.

How the hell do I answer that? Why did he even start this chat if he isn't going to talk?

 _Keverdeen62: So why do you keep talking to me if you know I don't want anything serious?_  
ThePeetaSpecial: I don't know. You're the only one that seems real. And I'd like to get to know you despite the difference in what we're looking for.  
Keverdeen62: Ok.

Now it's my turn to look like an ass. That's smooth, Katniss. Real smooth.

 _ThePeetaSpecial: What's it like being a personal trainer?_  
Keverdeen62: It's not bad. I get to boss people around.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Do you like being bossy?

Is that flirting? I should probably be offended. Normally, I'd be offended which is stupid since this is a dating site, but that's a pretty ballsy thing to ask someone that you've know over the internet for a little more than 24 hours… I kind of like it.

 _Keverdeen62: Sometimes. You said you can move bulk size bags of flour by yourself. How big is a bulk sized bag of flour?_  
ThePeetaSpecial: I order the 50lb bags and can usually move 3 of them at a time.  
Keverdeen62: If you can lift that much at once you should have a full body shot on your profile.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Is that your way of asking to see one?

He's smart, this one.

_Keverdeen62: Only if you're willing to show me one.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I could e-mail you one._

That would require me giving you my e-mail address. It's not like it's my home address, but I can avoid him easier if we contain the communication to website only. I do want to see his body though. It's been so long since I've seen a nice one that belongs to someone my age. I should start offering AARP card discounts for new clients.

 _Keverdeen62: keverdeen62_  
ThePeetaSpecial: Clever.  
Keverdeen62: Says the guy calling himself ThePeetaSpecial.  
ThePeetaSpecial: You got me there. The picture is sent.

That was fast. He's smart and eager… and wants marriage. I can't forget that one. He wants marriage. One new e-mail from a Peeta Mellark, who is shirtless in this picture and built like a brick shithouse. Why the hell is this guy on a dating website? He could have any woman he wanted. And he probably does. Maybe that's the problem. How many others did he send that picture to? Maybe that marriage thing is just a ploy to lure in the romantics. They're much easier to get into bed. And now he has your e-mail address. Great job, Katniss.

 _Keverdeen62: You have no business being on a website trying to find a woman._  
ThePeetaSpecial: Is that a compliment?  
Keverdeen62: You can say that.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Well you're not so bad yourself.  
Keverdeen612: Thank you…  
ThePeetaSpecial: The scowl works for you. I like a challenge.

Go on, Katniss - take offense like you always do. This is the point where you tell him to go fuck himself if he doesn't like what he sees. But he does like what he sees; he just has a strange way of saying it. A strange way that could easily be offensive if his eyes weren't so perfectly blue and innocent.

 _Keverdeen62: Is that right? How am I a challenge?_  
ThePeetaSpecial: Not wanting marriage.  
Keverdeen62: That will never change.  
ThePeetaSpecial: See, a challenge. If I wanted to tell my buddies that I'm on a dating website, this would be the moment that I tell them "I'm going to marry that woman."

Smart, eager, and arrogant.

 _Keverdeen62: You don't even know me._  
ThePeetaSpecial: I know enough.  
Keverdeen62: I don't see how you can. Unless you're looking in my window right now.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Don't worry, I'm not that weird.

Well you sound pretty damn weird right now, Peeta Mellark. I should probably stop this before it gets any stranger.

_ThePeetaSpecial: Are you there?  
Keverdeen62: Yeah… sorry._

So much for that.

 _ThePeetaSpecial: So what does the K stand for? I'm assuming your last name is Everdeen?_  
Keverdeen62: Yeah, it is.  
ThePeetaSpecial: What's the K? Krystal? Kandy?  
Keverdeen62: Do you think I'm a stripper or something?  
ThePeetaSpecial: Just trying to take a guess. Come on… you know my name, it's only fair you tell me yours.

So you can look me up and murder me? Not if I murder him first. What the fuck, Katniss? Go the fuck to sleep, you psycho.

_ThePeetaSpecial: I really am harmless. Maybe this is why I can't get dates… I scare them off._

Oh hell.

 _Keverdeen62: Katniss._  
ThePeetaSpecial: Unique. I like that. Would it be too forward to say it was also sexy?  
Keverdeen62: Maybe, but it's alright.

Sure you've only known me for a day on the internet, but go ahead and tell me my name's sexy. That's really sane. But his body…

_Keverdeen62: Would it be too forward if I said you have an amazing body?_

You're doing a piss poor job of getting this guy to go away. In fact, you're doing the exact opposite. Admit it; you don't want him to go away.

 _ThePeetaSpecial: Maybe to some, but not to me._  
Keverdeen62: Is that what "The Peeta Special" is?  
ThePeetaSpecial: No, that's something else…

Great, now he's got you thinking about his dick. This is a slippery slope you're on, Katniss. Don't think about anything slippery right now.

_Keverdeen62: Oh really?_

Wrong answer!

_ThePeetaSpecial: We'll have to meet up for you to learn more about it._

Now THAT is incredibly forward. Eight months, Katniss. It has been eight months since you got laid. Go ahead, look at his picture again.

 _Keverdeen62: Slow down there, Muffin Man…_  
ThePeetaSpecial: Did you just call me Muffin Man?  
Keverdeen62: Yeah… sorry about that.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I like it. You've given me a pet name.

This is not at all how the evening was supposed to go. Now my laundry has been sitting in the dryer for two hours and will be wrinkled by the time I go get them out. Admit it though, Katniss… you do want to meet this guy, even if you have only known him a little over 24 hours.

 _Keverdeen62: How many other girls have you asked to meet up with?_  
ThePeetaSpecial: Only you.  
Keverdeen62: I have trouble believing that one.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I promise.  
Keverdeen62: Then you must be hiding something. How old is this picture you sent me? I'll agree to meet you and only then find out you've actually gained 40lbs since the picture was taken.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I took it a month ago.  
Keverdeen62: Then tell me two things… How have you gone all these years without some woman snatching you up and why haven't you asked anyone else to meet you?  
ThePeetaSpecial: Because nobody has made a lasting impression on me. Not until you.

Flattery should be getting him nowhere… but I'm afraid it's going to get him everywhere.

 _Keverdeen62: That still doesn't make me want to marry you._  
ThePeetaSpecial: I'd be scared if it did. I'm just being honest.  
Keverdeen62: Well thank you.  
ThePeetaSpecial: What about you? Why didn't you ever get married?  
Keverdeen62: I never saw the need.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Dick on the regular isn't need enough?

He did not just say that to me.

_Keverdeen62: Hey, I know enough married people to know that is not at all true. They probably get less dick than I do._

And you had to answer him, didn't you? And you had to lie.

 _ThePeetaSpecial: Is that right?_  
Keverdeen62: Not really. But I'm sure you get it a lot.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I've never had dick, actually.  
Keverdeen62: You know what I meant.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Get laid regularly… yeah. Well I don't. You don't have to believe me, but it's the truth.

How am I supposed to believe him when he looks the way he does? He should have women throwing themselves at him. There must be something wrong with him.

 _Keverdeen62: Why not?_  
ThePeetaSpecial: I already told you. Nobody's made a lasting impression.  
Keverdeen62: You need a lasting impression to get laid? You're not a virgin, are you?  
ThePeetaSpecial: No… but it takes a lot for me to want to do it in the first place.

So he has to have feelings and shit. I knew there was something wrong with him.

_Keverdeen62: Oh.  
ThePeetaSpecial: I'm sorry if that isn't what you're looking for._

No, it isn't. Or at least it wasn't.

_Keverdeen62: It's ok… I like a challenge too._

And now I more or less told him I want to fuck him. Great. Dig yourself into an even deeper hole.

 _ThePeetaSpecial: I know we've been all jokes before this, but I really do like you and I would like to take you out sometime in the future. No rush or anything._  
Keverdeen62: We'll see.  
ThePeetaSpecial: Would it be alright if I e-mailed you some time? That's a lot easier than sitting on this damn site all night.

Wasn't this what I was trying to avoid by giving him my e-mail address in the first place? But at least he is asking permission. I've got to give him that. And he's so easy to talk to. I don't think I've ever met someone that I could talk to this easily, even over the internet.

 _Keverdeen62: Sure._  
ThePeetaSpecial: I'm sure your laundry has been done for a while now, so I'll let you go and get some rest. Sleep well, Katniss Everdeen.  
Keverdeen62: Goodnight.

You can wipe that shit eating grin off of your face at any time, Katniss Everdeen.

 _New e-mail from: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Good morning, Katniss. Enjoy your day off.

Short and sweet, just like every morning for the last month. We talk all day, we talk all night, and the only time we stop is when we go to sleep. He says his 3 year old dog Bonsai wants to meet me, but after talking with him almost constantly all these weeks I know that's code for "I want to meet you."

 _Send e-mail to: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Good morning, Peeta. Don't burn yourself on the oven again.

That was my fault. After three weeks of talking only through e-mail, he asked for my phone number and like a fool, I gave it to him. We talked for four hours that night and three the next morning until I finally had to go meet a client. After a week of talking on the phone, the conversation got a little heated early one morning while he was trying to stay awake during an early shift. When he asked me my favorite thing to do in bed, and I told him I loved going down on guys, he must have lost his concentration and scorched his forearm on the oven rack. It made me glad that I stopped where I did. Hearing his voice that early in the morning did things to me that made me want to say that I wish I had his dick in my mouth at that moment. How could I even think that about a person I've never formally met? My desperation must be at an all-time high to even consider saying something like that to him.

 _New e-mail from: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: If I do I'll make you come here and take care of me.

Oh if you only knew how badly I wanted to take care of you, Peeta. Don't tell him that though, Katniss. You don't want to seem desperate. But after a month, is it really that desperate? Shouldn't he have asked me to meet him somewhere by now? Peeta is strange when our conversations take a naughty turn. He sounds like he so badly wants to get nasty and say things that would make my mother blush, but he keeps holding back. He starts thing only to quickly change the subject when it gets too heated.

 _Send e-mail to: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: I wouldn't mind that one bit. You'd just have to tell me where to find you.

That's subtle, Katniss. Nothing screams "Take me now!" louder than what you just said. Maybe I should scream it. Call him and yell it into the phone so he knows that I want him to keep saying all of those things to me. I just need to tell him that I'm not offended and I don't think he's being rude. He needs to know that it's okay for him to talk to you like that, Katniss. Tell him.

 _New e-mail from: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Meet me at The Copper Top at 7pm?

Well there it is. Finally. Maybe it's good that I opened that door for him. Who knows how long this would have gone on otherwise? He still needs to know that he doesn't have to be polite with me anymore. We're beyond that. Maybe it is better that I tell him something like that in person.

 _Send e-mail to: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Is this a date?

I hope it is. I need a night out with a man and possibly more than that afterward. In all the time I've spent talking to Peeta I could have gotten that ten times over from other guys, but I don't want those other guys, I want Peeta. The baker that wants marriage and has a dog named Bonsai and only sleeps with women he has feelings for. What the hell am I doing?

 _New e-mail from: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: I certainly hope it is. Do you want it to be a date?

You had to ask, didn't you?

 _Send e-mail to: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Yes, I do. I'll see you at 7pm :)

A smile, Katniss? What the fuck are you, 17? And there's that shit eating grin again.

 _New e-mail from: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: Is there anything you want me to order for you before you get there?

This is why I smile. He's considerate and kind and so damn charming that it makes me want to throw up sometimes. If he weren't so damn cute I would get mad at him for making me act like a teenager.

 _Send e-mail to: pmellark_  
Sent:08/17/2012  
Message: A screwdriver, please. I'll see you in a few hours.

Am I really doing this? It's not like I haven't met someone off the internet before, but we both knew where things were headed before we even agreed to meet. With Peeta, I don't know what he's expecting. Is he going to do something cheesy like ask me to be his girlfriend? I bet Peeta would do something like that, and isn't there a better term out there for people our age? I'm not someone's girlfriend.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: Hey, I hope you made it to work on time. I'm sorry again.

No good morning message today because there was no need for one. He wished me good morning in person after his alarm clock went off. I shouldn't have stayed overnight. Why did I stay overnight? Why did I even go home with him? Now what is he going to think this is? We did have a date last night, though… which is probably going to make it worse.

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: I got here on time. Don't apologize.

Please don't apologize. I could try to convince myself that I'm upset with myself for letting this happen, but I'm not. Part of me knew this would happen as soon as I walked into that tavern and saw him sitting there at that table. I thought his pictures were gorgeous, but it's nothing compared to the real thing.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: You're not upset, are you?

How could I be? We made it through one drink before he was inviting me back to his place and I could have stopped it right there. Declined and gone our separate ways and ignored his e-mails. Going home with him is what I wanted, but when the opportunity presented itself it felt like too much, too fast. Not that e-mailing for a month and one date is too much. That's not enough. Not nearly enough for what I'm feeling, and that is what is too much.

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: Not at all. Just very tired.

How could I not be? We got back to his place just before 9pm and wasted no time taking things to the bedroom and that's where we stayed doing everything but sleeping for most of the night. He was so skillful and assertive. For the first time I was with someone that doesn't depend on me to call the shots. For once I can just enjoy myself without having to think about anything but him and the way he moves, and the way his shoulders look as he hovers over me. Calm down, Katniss. You're at work.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: I'd like to see you again.

And now you're smiling like a child again, Katniss. But I can't help it. That's the one thing I was hoping to hear today and he's said it before noon. I don't need to tell him not to worry about being polite anymore. He knows now without me ever having to say it. We haven't talked about the differences in what we want from this relationship in weeks, and if he did ask what I wanted now, I wouldn't have an answer for him. I can barely focus on my job today. All I can think about is him and the way he makes me feel. I thought you didn't like feeling, Katniss?

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: I'd really like that.

I hate feeling. This is what happens when I allow myself to feel something more than just what was needed to get me off. I swore I would never travel down this road again. Never let any man make me feel like I can't get through the day without him and here I am, doing it all over again.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: Tonight?

Yes. Please. Tonight. Wait… what am I saying? Pull yourself together, Katniss! What are you doing? You've met this guy once and have been talking to him over the internet for a month. How could you possibly know that you can't get through the day without him?

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 08/18/2012  
Message: Yes.

When you know, you just know. That's how.

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 12/20/2012  
Message: Thank you for The Peeta Special last night.

So The Peeta Special wasn't his dick at all, though he certainly has nothing to be ashamed of there. A stupid username that could be mistaken for something sexual is actually food. Cheese buns that he bakes for his customers. They're apparently his signature and they sell out within an hour every single time he makes them. He brought me a batch when he came over last night – we shared them in bed.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 12/20/2012  
Message: You're welcome. I'm glad you liked them.

He better bring them over every single time he is here. Why did he leave anyway? He has a job, Katniss. What the fuck is wrong with you? I want to ask him if he'll come over again tonight. Curl up on the couch with me and watch Netflix until neither of us can stand it anymore and I finally get to feel him again. Feel him again? You've been watching too many Hallmark movies, Katniss.

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 12/20/2012  
Message: Netflix and Chinese tonight?

I shouldn't have asked that. I sound like I'm desperate for his company. I am, but he doesn't have to know that. Why not, though? You've been with him almost every single night for the last 4 months. I'm pretty sure you're in a relationship. It's about time you admit it, Katniss.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 12/20/2012  
Message: Nothing sounds better :)

I wonder if he knows what he does to me. I wonder if he knows that he makes me feel more than one person should ever make me feel, even if I didn't swear off love years ago. Love. That's what this is now, and denying it would make me look like nothing more than a moron. I'm in love with him despite everything I ever said about committed relationships.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 03/25/2012  
Message: Could you pick up some wine on your way home? I'm making you dinner.

Home. Our home. The days of us going back and forth from his apartment to mine ended 3 months ago. It was becoming pointless to pay rent on two places when only one was being occupied at any given time. My lease ran out first and I moved into his apartment. While we waited for his lease to expire we looked at houses. Houses. I bought a house with this man.

 _Text from: Peeta_  
Sent: 07/15/2013  
Message: Happy anniversary, baby.

Anniversary. Only he would acknowledge the anniversary of the day we started talking on the internet. You're smiling anyway though, aren't you? Like a big dumb kid in the middle of the gym. I better stop; people are going to think he sent me a naked picture. I wish he'd do that again.

 _Text to: Peeta_  
Sent: 07/15/2013  
Message: Happy anniversary, cutie.

There I go using cliché terms of endearment again. I should have been more creative. Taken a half hour to meticulously type out a message thanking him for succeeding in making me happier than I ever remember being in my adult life. Scolding him for making me look like a liar when I told him I didn't want a serious relationship, and telling him in no uncertain terms that I love him and he is it for me, but I can't. I've never been one for words. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

 _Message from: ThePeetaSpecial_  
Subject: Not Looking for Marriage?  
Sent: 07/26/2014  
Message: We're getting married today. I'm sitting here in my tux, typing you this message before I head to the venue. I can't wait to see you. I know you'll be a beautiful bride. I just wanted to let you know that I meant what I said that night two years ago. I would have told my buddies that night that I was going to marry you. As soon as I saw you I knew you were the one. I'm glad you stuck around.

_It may have taken us longer than most people to find each other, but I'm glad we did and I don't regret waiting until my perfect match came along. It's you, me, and Bonsai for the long haul. I love you._

_-Peeta_


	2. Like Paper Planes in Playground Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A one shot detailing the events of Katniss and Peeta's first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to sassyeverlarking for helping me decide on what beer Peeta would drink and for pre-reading some of this story, and to all of the wonderful ladies who word battled with me as I worked on this one shot. This is for all of you.

_Calm down, Katniss. Calm down_.

I take a deep breath in through my mouth and exhale slowly through my nose, trying desperately not to start hyperventilating. I can’t figure out what it is about meeting Peeta that is making me so nervous, but I can’t let him see me like this. What would he think if the confident woman he has been talking to for the last month shows up and is so nervous she can barely speak? This is not the first impression that I plan to make tonight.

Once my car is locked, I cross the street slowly and head toward The Copper Top. Should I have told Peeta what I’d be wearing tonight? He’s seen the few pictures I put up on my online profile, and though I don’t feel that I look any different in them, he may not agree when he sees me.

Quickly, I peer into the window of a closed shop to check my appearance, smoothing my hair with the palm of my hand. The pictures I posted _are_ several years old, do I really look the same? In the end, I decide that if neither of us spot each other, I could always call him to make sure our plans to meet were still on.

I reach The Copper Top faster than I intended, and I stop abruptly, fishing my phone from my purse to check the time -- 6:45pm.

_Shit._ I didn’t think I would be fifteen minutes early. What if Peeta isn’t even here yet? If I go in there and get us a table, would I seem too eager? Is there etiquette for meetings like this? Maybe it would be better if I stood outside for a little while and strolled into the bar a little after seven. That way, I wouldn’t look too eager, but I also wouldn’t look as though I didn’t care.

My plans to wait outside dissolve almost instantly when I sneakily peek into the window of The Copper Top. There is Peeta, sitting at a table right in the middle of the small bar. There’s no mistaking it’s him. Even though I’ve only seen one picture of him, I’d recognize those golden curls anywhere.

Set in front of him is a bottle of beer, and as requested, my screwdriver sits across from him, waiting for me. As I continue to stare at him through the window, it becomes apparent that he is very nervous. His hands are wrapped around his beer bottle while his legs bounce wildly under the table. I can’t make him wait another fifteen minutes -- I have to go in now.

 

I've been here before, but for some reason the space feels even smaller than it usually does. The table Peeta choose sits at the smallest part of the bar, with just a small gal of a few feet between the wall on one side, and the bar on the other. I know he probably choose the table because it would be hard to miss him sitting there, but I can't help but wish he'd chosen a table at the back of the bar where there is more room. I already feel as though I'm suffocating, and I just walked in. My legs feel like they’re full of lead, making the walk to the table feel endless.

When I feel that I’m close enough, I clear my throat as loudly as I can and hope Peeta hears it. He looks up, confused for just a moment before a smile lights up his face and he gets up from his seat.

He’s wearing dark jeans that seem to be perfectly tailored for his frame. They hug his legs so perfectly that it's difficult for me to look elsewhere. I finally manage to tear my eyes away and continue upward toward the black henley shirt he wears underneath a light, black jacket.  

Suddenly I feel self conscious. Peeta seems to look even better than his picture. Do I? What if he is disappointed with what he sees?

“Katniss?” Peeta asks, stepping closer.

“Peeta?” I return, smiling slyly.

Peeta finishes closing the space between us immediately, wrapping me up in the warmest hug I’ve ever felt. While his arms hold me tightly and my face presses lightly against his neck, I can’t help but revel in his scent. He doesn’t smell like he has taken a bath in cologne. In fact, he doesn’t smell like cologne at all. It’s fresher than that. I have to wonder if it’s just _him_.

I feel my cheeks redden when I suddenly realize how long we’ve been standing in the middle of this bar hugging. When I pull away, I keep my hands on his arms, keeping him in place so I can get a good look at his face, and he smiles down at me as though he knows exactly what I’m doing.

“One picture wasn’t enough, huh?” He asks.

“Well, you did see several of mine,” I point out.

“Got me there.” Peeta puts his hands up in surrender, and I finally release him from my grasp. “I’d offer to send you more, but I don’t know that I need to now that you’ve seen I’m not bald, nor do I have a beer gut.” He circles around me and pulls the chair out, waiting for me to sit down before pushing it back in and sitting back down in his own seat.

“I don’t know. Maybe I just want a few to keep close by to look at when you’re not around,” I say.

The ease in which we fall into our familiar banter astounds me. I never expected to feel so comfortable so quickly. I expected at least a few awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences along the way.

“Stop, you’re going to give me an ego,” Peeta jokes, pretending to swat my words away with his hand. “But while we’re at it, can I tell you that you look even better than your pictures?”

“You can tell me, but I can’t say that I’ll believe you,” I reply, taking a long sip of my Screwdriver.

“Believe it,” Peeta says. “And you’re just as spirited as you were in your messages and emails.”

“Spirited?” I laugh. “That’s a new one. I’ve gotten prickly and even brazen before, but never spirited.”

“It was the first thing I thought of when you first replied to me online,” Peeta confesses with a shrug. “I thought, ‘This one is spirited. I like that’. You didn’t try to act like anyone but yourself. That’s a good quality in my book.”

“I usually just drive people away when I act like myself,” I admit.

“Well it’s going to take a lot more than that to drive me away,” Peeta says. He smiles and bites his bottom lip before taking a long pull from his beer.

“I’ll remember that when you start avoiding me,” I say warningly.

As I stare at Peeta a little more, I notice that his hair is a little shorter than it was in the picture he sent me. The curls at the top of his head are still unruly, but the sides and back are tapered in closely, almost as if he just got it cut.

“Your hair is shorter,” I finally say.

“Yeah, I went and got it cut today, actually. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t know how to brush my hair or something, because no matter what I do when it’s longer, it always looks like I just rolled out of bed,” Peeta explains.

“I liked it in your picture,” I shrug. “You should have kept it longer.”

“ _Now_ you tell me!” Peeta laughs. The crows feet that appear in the corners of his eyes with his smile almost takes my breath away. A feature that people often consider a detriment to their appearance only seem to make Peeta look even better than he already does. I fear I'll be spending the rest of the night trying to make him laugh, just so I can see them again.

“At least you know for the future,” I tell him. Immediately, I want to pull my words right back into my mouth. I’ve been here with him for ten minutes and I’m already talking about _the future_? If I didn’t look eager before, I certainly do now. I take another long sip of my drink in attempts to silence myself before I say something else that I shouldn’t.

“I ordered some onion rings before you got here,” Peeta says. “We could share them in you want.”

“Alright,” I smile. “I’ve never had the onion rings here before.”

“Really? They’re pretty amazing. I’ve been trying to figure out for years what’s in the batter they use, but everytime I try to duplicate it, I’m always missing something.” Peeta falls silent suddenly, and looks up at me almost nervously. “I also want to apologize,” he says.

“For what?” I ask, suddenly nervous that he has been hiding something from me and plans to drop a bomb on me after he's already convinced me to meet him.

“For choosing to meet here. It seemed like a good idea at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed a bit silly to ask you to meet me at a bar. I thought about asking if you’d rather meet somewhere nicer, but then changing plans at the last minute seemed even worse, so I didn’t.”

“I like it here,” I shrug nonchalantly. “There’s a homey atmosphere, and it’s comforting in a way.”

“As long as you’re alright with it,” Peeta says, eyeing me carefully.

I stare back at him and nod resolutely.

“I am.”

Peeta nods, seemingly convinced. I don’t think he realizes yet that my _spirited_ personality would also let him know very quickly if there was something I was unhappy with. I’ve had more than my share of uncomfortable first dates to know when things were headed in the wrong direction, and so far, this one has stayed on the right path.

“So,” Peeta says, clearing his throat.

I observe him as he shifts in his seat almost uncomfortably, and it’s only then that I notice how intently I’ve been staring at his bright, blue eyes. I don’t know if it’s the poor lighting in this bar, but there also seems to be a thin ring of dark blue surrounding each iris. I can’t take my eyes off of them, and I can only imagine how strange to must be for Peeta.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, suddenly feeling uncomfortable myself. I quickly try to think of a lie to tell him. Anything that wouldn’t have me admitting to being enamored with his eyes. “It’s just... your eyes.” _Nice going, Katniss._

Peeta throws his head back and laughs heartily, but this action now has my eyes focusing on his Adam’s Apple. I’m hopeless, and if he keeps it up, I’m a goner.

“Onion rings?”

The voice of a waitress cuts through the air, saving me from drowning too early. I nod at her gratefully while Peeta motions for her to set the towering plate of onion rings down in the center of the table.

“Whoa,” I mutter, taking in the sight. Each onion ring has to be at least an inch thick and stacked one on top of the other, held up by a stick.

“That's usually the reaction that people have if they've never had onion rings here before,” Peeta laughs, satisfied. He grabs an onion ring from the top of the stackand takes a huge bite. His eyes widen suddenly, and he opens his mouth slightly. “Hot!”

Now it’s my turn to laugh while he takes a long swig of his beer.

“Not even the most interesting man in the world can handle a hot onion ring, it seems,” I joke, pointing to the bottle of Dos Equis in Peeta’s hand.

“Hardy har har,” Peeta says sarcastically. “I wouldn’t recommending eating one right now. Unless you like to burn your tastebuds off.”

“I don’t, so I’ll wait,” I reply.

“How was the rest of your day?” Peeta asks, setting his half eaten onion ring down on a small plate.

“Uneventful,” I shrug. “I had one last training session and then went home to finish some laundry.”

“You do a lot of laundry,” Peeta says pointedly.

I think back to one of our first conversations. The night we spent so much time talking that I left my clothes in the washer and had to put them through a second time to get the wrinkles out.

“My job involves a lot of sweat,” I reply with a shrug, noticing the way Peeta’s eyes narrow at my comment.

If I were behind the safety of my computer screen, or even my phone, I’d ask him what he was thinking right now, but my words don’t flow as freely when I’m talking to someone face to face. Instead, I reply with the easiest question in my arsenal.

“How about the rest of your day?”

“Mundane. Waited for my reliever to clock in at the bakery and went for my haircut.” Peeta brings his fingers up to the side of his head and touches the freshly cut hair. “And now I find out you liked it better longer.”

“Well don’t grow your hair on account of me. I’d only ever seen one picture of you before tonight,” I reply. “There’s nothing wrong with the haircut. You still look good.”

Peeta smiles and picks up his onion ring. He takes a second, more cautious bite and gives me a thumbs up, indicating they should be cool enough to eat now.  

We polish off half of the onion rings in silence. It’s not often that I allow myself to eat something like this, and I am determined to enjoy it. As our eagerness to stuff our faces wanes, I notice Peeta settle back into his chair.

“I want to know more about you,” he says, working on another onion ring slowly. “What’s your family like?”

_He had to ask_ that _question tonight, didn’t he?_

“There isn’t a whole lot of family to talk about,” I tell him honestly. “It’s just me and my mother these days. My father died when I was eleven, and then my sister followed him six years later when I was seventeen.”

Embarrassed by my overshare, I quickly take another bite of my onion ring, forcing myself to stop talking so openly with a man that I technically just met less than an hour ago.

“I am so sorry,” Peeta stammers. “I guess I blew that ice breaker question.” He swallows hard and brings his bottle of beer to his lips, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know,” I tell him hurriedly, eager to get the conversation off of my family. “What about your family? Isn’t your bakery named after you?”

“My family’s name, yes,” Peeta nods.

I’m a terrible conversationalist. Half of the time when I talk to anyone, it’s them doing all of the questioning. At the end of the conversation, they know way more about me than I know about them. I’m determined not to make that same mistake with Peeta, so I think quickly and arm myself with the most logical question to ask him next.

“Do they work there, too?”

I notice Peeta bite down on the inside of his cheek as his face screws up into an uncomfortable grimace for only a second, before his kind smile returns.

“They used to,” he says. “My mother, father, and two brothers all worked there, but they’re also gone, leaving me as the last Mellark to run the bakery.”

I feel like I’ve been punched straight in the gut. My attempt to be engaging in a conversation has made me look like a fool in a matter of seconds.

“Well, shit,” I murmur, letting out a shaky breath. “Now it’s me who blew the ice breaker question.”

To my relief, Peeta laughs.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You didn’t know.” With a quick wink, he brings his bottle of beer to his lips and takes a sip, licking his lips after he pulls the bottle away. “How about we talk about something happier?”

“That sounds like a perfect idea,” I say, relaxing back against my chair.

“So, Katniss...” Peeta says, lowering his voice.

He lowers himself down close to the table top and leans across it, prompting me to follow his lead and do the same. Our faces are inches from each other, and Peeta stares at me intently, giving me an even better look at his eyes. My breath hitches in my throat when I notice him lick his lips again and smirk almost mischievously before leaning in even closer. If I move forward even a centimeter, our lips would be touching.

“Coke or Pepsi?”

A loud laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. Peeta sits back in his chair, a wide, satisfied grin plastered on his face.

“I’m all about Coke,” I answer quickly. “Diet Coke.”

“You’re terrible,” Peeta says sternly, shaking his head. “How can you drink _diet_? You can get a complex migraine from diet soda, you know. I’m a Pepsi guy, personally.”

“Gross,” I say, pretending to gag. “I think we’ve hit our first road block.”

“I think we have. Why don’t you like Pepsi?”

“It’s just too sweet,” I shrug. “It tastes like they put extra High Fructose Corn Syrup in Pepsi. Coke isn’t as sweet, especially Diet Coke.”

“You should try Throwback Pepsi, then,” Peeta explains. “It’s made with _real sugar_.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” I smile. I know it’s my turn to ask a question, but I did such a poor job last time, I am afraid I may create another awkward situation. As Peeta grabs for another onion ring, I take a moment to come up with a question that is actually good this time.

“What’s something that you did as a child that would have gotten you grounded if your parents had ever found out?” I ask.

“Good question,” Peeta says, raising his eyebrows, impressed. “I used to go to my friend’s house after school every day. I'd tell my mother that we were going to play ball in the park, but instead, we’d climb up on top of his garage and smoke as many cigarettes as we could until I had to go home for dinner. On the way home I’d stop at the corner store and buy gum and a car air freshener with my allowance and hope nobody smelled the smoke on me. Did you know that if you rub one of those air fresheners on your clothes it’s just as good as cologne?”

I laugh at Peeta’s last sentence, but can’t help focusing on the fact that he mentioned he smoked. I have to ask the next question that is nagging at me.

“You smoke?” I ask, trying to hide my aversion to the habit.

“Nah,” Peeta shakes his head. “I quit when I was ten.”

I knew Peeta was kind just by our conversations this last month, but nothing could have prepared me for just how _funny_ he is in person. He had his share of good jokes during our talks, but it seems that his humor truly shines when he’s talking to someone face to face.

“So I guess it’s my turn to ask a question?” Peeta asks. It appears we’re playing a game now. I nod, allowing Peeta to take a moment to think of a question. “Are you a morning person or a night owl?”

“Morning, hands down,” I answer. “I’m usually up early to do training sessions anyway, but even if I weren’t, I just like mornings better. The sun is coming up, and there’s a calmness in the quiet that isn’t quite there at night. What about you?”

“Morning, usually. I have to wake up early too most of the time so I can be at the bakery and ready to open by six am, but sometimes staying up late is worth it.”

There’s something in Peeta’s eyes after his last remark that has me entranced. They look darker suddenly. I repeat his words again in my head -- _Sometimes staying up late is worth it._ My next question is to ask what makes it worth it, but I suspect I already know his answer. I see his mouth moving, but all I can focus on are his lips, pink and slightly wet. It's taking everything in my power not to reach out and run the pad of my thumb along the top lip that protrudes just slightly in its relaxed state now that he has stopped talking.

I notice him staring at me, a confused expression on his face and I realize suddenly that he is waiting for me to answer him. The only problem is that I didn’t hear his question.

“What?” I ask, trying to clear my mind of all of the thoughts I’ve had in the last minute involving Peeta’s lips.

“The last onion ring,” Peeta says, pointing to the plate in front of us. “Do you want it?”

“Oh!” I laugh, but it comes out forced which causes Peeta to furrow his eyebrows at me. _He’s probably wondering why you’re suddenly acting so weird, Katniss. You could always just tell him that you want his lips on your body and see how he responds._ “No, you can have it.”

“Do you want to split it?” Peeta holds the last onion ring in his hand as he stares at me. He appears to still be a little confused by my sudden distraction.

“Alright, that’s fine.”

Quickly, Peeta brings the onion ring to his mouth and bites one side, flipping it before doing it again to the other side, splitting it in half.

“Oh shit!” Peeta says, suddenly realizing what he did. “I’m sorry. If that grossed you out, you don’t have to eat this other half, I’ll order something else for you.”

“I don’t mind,” I laugh, reaching across the table and taking one of the halves. My mind is still preoccupied by Peeta's statement. I wish I knew what was going through his head when he said it. What has he thought about staying up late for where I'm concerned? How often did he think about it since out conversation on the phone the morning he burned his arm. “How’s the burn on your arm doing, by the way?” I ask suddenly.

Peeta pulls up the sleeve of his jacket and flashes his forearm in my direction. Immediately, I notice the discolored skin on his forearm. It looks mostly healed, but I still feel guilty for causing it.

“I really am sorry about that,” I apologize sheepishly.

“It’s my own fault for not paying attention while my hand was inside a three hundred-fifty degree oven,” Peeta shrugs. He pulls his sleeve back down and looks up at me, that same mischievous grin plays on his lips. “What can I say? I was liking what I was hearing.”

Peeta’s tongue peeks out from the side of his lip and traces the corner delicately before he it disappears, taking his grin with it. I turn my eyes back up to his own, and notice they’ve darkened considerably, just like earlier, but the quick flash of darkness that I saw before has been replaced with something much more intense -- primal, even.

My body is racked with simultaneous urges to both look down and escalate this staring contest. I could look away now and focus on the other half of our shared onion ring that sits cold in my plate, or I could do something that silently lets him know he has my attention.

It feels like we have been sitting here staring at eachother for hours before my hand falls down in front of me, almost as if it has a mind of its own, and plucks the onion ring from the my plate. I look back up into Peeta’s eyes as I bring the onion ring to my mouth and take a bite.

In a flash, my plan to take the sexiest bite of food I’ve ever eaten in my life slowly begins to unravel before my eyes.  As I try to pull the remaining morsels away from my mouth, only the fried batter of the onion ring is present and I realize quickly that I never bite through the onion when I feel it stick to my chin.

As quickly as I can, I dropped the shell of the onion ring into my plate and push the onion into my mouth before attempting to lick the grease away with my tongue. When that doesn’t work, I finally drop my head and pick up a napkin to wipe my chin, embarrassment coursing through my veins.

I feel like a fool. What was I hoping to accomplish with that move anyway? _Show him how sexy you are by taking a bite of your cold, half eaten onion ring, Katniss. That will have him begging for you to go down on him in a heartbeat._

Fuck.

Slowly, I lift my head back up when I hear Peeta’s chuckle. There’s nothing malicious behind his laugh. In fact, he sounds amused, almost charmed. His face is contorted into a lopsided grin and his eyes have softened considerably as he stares back at me.

“I guess I messed that up, didn’t I?” I ask somberly.

I knew that if anyone was going to ruin the moment, it was going to be me, but I didn’t expect to ruin it that badly. To my surprise, Peeta’s lopsided grin transforms into a full smile that reaches his eyes almost instantly.

“No, you didn’t mess up anything,” Peeta says, shaking his head. “Actually, if was kind of sexy watching you try to lick grease off your chin.”

The laugh that follows is light, and seems to die in the back of his throat as he watches me take my straw into my mouth to take a sip of the orange liquid in my glass. I purse my lips together when I pull away and wet them with my tongue before popping the abandoned piece of batter from the onion ring into my mouth slowly.

Peeta shifts in his seat and leans forward, causingme to lean forward myself and move my face closer to his.

“I was thinking,” he says, his voice low. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No. I didn’t have time to grab anything after work,” I tell him.

“Well, I haven’t either. I’m not sure what your thoughts are on bar food, but I think onion rings are about my limit,” he explains. “So, I was thinking.. maybe we could get out of here and find somewhere else to grab dinner that has a little less grease.”

“That sounds good,” I nod, bringing my straw to my lips. I drain the last of my screwdriver quickly, which now tastes more like water than anything else, never taking my eyes off of Peeta.

“Or we could go back to my place and I could cook something for us. Maybe watch a movie?” Peeta adds, shifting in his seat. “I just signed up for Netflix.”

“You cook?” I ask, twirling my straw around in my empty glass.

“A little bit,” Peeta shrugs. “Enough to make us a nice meal that we could eat on a comfortable couch.”

I bite my bottom lip and nod slowly, taking a moment to act as though I’m considering my options, when in reality, my choice was made as soon as he mentioned going to his place. No, sooner than that. My choice was made as soon as I walked into this bar. I have just been waiting for him to move the conversation in the right direction.

“I think dinner and Netflix sounds perfect,” I finally tell him, trying to convey confidence with my tone.

“Alright,” Peeta says. He smiles as he brings his bottle of beer to his lips, tipping his head back to finish off the last sip. “I’ll just go up to the bar and close out my tab, then we can head out.”

Peeta excuses himself and heads toward the bar, looking back at me once to smile before disappearing behind a group of patrons. As I wait for him to return, I take a quick glance at my watch and realize that we’ve been here almost two hours already. No wonder my drink was watered down by the time I reached the end of it.   

I catch a glimpse of Peeta as he walks back toward our table. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m looking at him, so I take advantage of the moment and watch him as he stuffs his wallet into his back pocket, causing the collar of his jacket to pull against his shirt. My eyes are immediately drawn to the slight view of his collarbone. My eyes trail upward over the curve of his neck, and suddenly I’m eye to eye with Peeta. By the way his lips curl into a knowing grin, it’s clear that he must’ve finally looked in my direction and caught me staring at him. His nose crinkles, and even though I can’t hear him, it’s clear that he’s snickering at me, and by the time he reaches the table, his heavily lidded eyes have narrowed in on me considerably.

“Do you have a pen?” he asks.

I nod and begin to dig into my purse, presenting him with a pen quickly. I watch him grab a napkin from the bar and write something down on the clear side.

“Here’s my address,” Peeta says, handing me the napkin. “It’s about a ten minute drive from here, are you familiar with the area?”

“Not really,” I reply while looking at the address in front of me.

“You should probably follow me, then.”

“Alright,” I nod. “I can put the address into my phone too, just in case I lose you.”

I pull my iPhone from my purse and input Peeta’s address into my map.

“Oh, you’re a smartphone user,” Peeta says, fascinated. “I get made fun of because I still have a flip phone.” He pulls the small clamshell phone from his pocket and waves it in front of me. “I just don’t want to learn a new phone. A computer was enough.”

I try to stifle my laugh, but it’s no use. Peeta doesn’t seem offended, but I feel like I should let him know that I understand where he’s coming from.

“They hire teenagers to work the front desk at the gym I work at,” I begin to explain. “A few of the girls talked me out of carrying around a planner and taught me how to use the iPhone so I could keep track of clients and appointments, and they’ve been teaching me things ever since. Otherwise, I’d be in the same boat as you are.”

“Well at least you have a reason to use one,” Peeta says. “I don’t. Ready to get out of here?”

I nod and stand up, falling into step with Peeta as we navigate through the suddenly crowded bar and out the front door.

“Where are you parked?”

“Over there on the street,” I reply, pointing to my silver sedan.

We stand on the curb in silence as we wait for a few cars to pass, and it seems as though neither one of us is quite ready to bring up what is about to happen. Even though I’m confident that I didn’t read Peeta wrong, I still can’t seem to find it in me to even say anything remotely salacious just yet, but my body tingles when I feel his hand find the small of my back when we begin our stroll across the street.

If I wasn’t sure that the night would end like this when I agreed to meet him tonight, I definitely knew it would as soon as I saw him sitting at that table waiting for me. Missing are my usual doubts and constant questions to myself over whether or not a decision I’m about to make is the right one. This is something I’ve wanted for a while, denying it would be asinine.  

Peeta pulls my car door open once I’ve unlocked it and waits for me to climb inside before splaying his body between my door and the side of the car.

“I’m parked on the other side of the bar,” he says, motioning with his head. “I’ll drive around and then you can follow me from there.”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to do that,” I tell him, showing him my phone. “I think I can find it ok on my own.”

“As long as you’re sure,” Peeta says, searching my eyes for trepidation.

I hope he doesn't think I'm considering ditching him.

“I’m sure," I tell him, keeping my eyes focused on his.

“Okay,” Peeta smiles. “See you soon.”

Peeta closes my door and begins to walk back across the street toward his own car while I start navigation on my phone. I decide to wait a few minutes to allow Peeta to get to his car and get a head start toward his place first. I’ve never liked being the first person to arrive somewhere, especially when it’s someone else’s home.

After I finally start driving in the direction my phone instructs me to, I’m hit with the realization that I just helped Peeta eat an entire order of onion rings. Frantically, I begin to search blindly through my purse, hoping that I have a spare piece of gum left in the bottom. The last thing I want is onion breath if I’m going to be kissing Peeta tonight.

My phone alerts me that I’ve reached my destination sooner than I expected, and I have to hit my breaks in order to avoid missing the entrance to Peeta's apartment complex. As soon as I’ve turned, I realize that I have no idea where to go from here. Maybe I should have followed Peeta after all.

I make a left and drive up slowly past the front of the large apartment building when I spot Peeta stepping out from a line of cars to flag me down. He points to a free parking space and waits for me to park before meeting me as I get out of my car.

“Halfway home I realized that I didn’t tell you how to get into the building,” Peeta explains. “I was going to call you, but I knew you had your phone giving you directions here. I didn’t know if a phone call would mess anything up.”

“You could have called,” I laugh. “It would have been fine.”

“Looks like I learned something new tonight,” Peeta smirks. He puts his hand on the small of my back again and begins to guide me away from my car in the direction of the apartment complex. The close proximity of his body has me wishing we were already inside his apartment. I wouldn’t mind sidling up closer to him, urging him to wrap his arm around my waist completely.

My breath hitches as we approach the front of the apartment complex. It’s beautiful. A red brick path leads to the front doors which are nestled inside squared stone arches. A large tree sits right in the center of the front courtyard, heavily illuminated by ground lights.

Peeta quickly directs me to an elevator in the lobby, pressing the number eight once we slip inside.

“The eighth floor, huh?” I ask, an air of curiosity in my voice. “Does that mean you have a balcony?”

Peeta smirks at me, nodding slowly just as the elevator hits the eighth floor and the doors slide open. His hand finds my back immediately, guiding my out of the elevator and to the left. We walk for a short time before Peeta stops in front of a red door.

“Home sweet home,” Peeta says, fiddling with his keys until he finds the one he is looking for and slides it into the keyhole.

Before he can even open the door, there is a strange noise coming from the other side, and as Peeta opens it up and steps aside to let me walk in first, I see who caused the sound.

A black and white French Bulldog circles around my legs. His black ears stand at attention and his tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants happily.

“Bonsai!” Peeta laughs, kneeling down as the dog runs to him. “Don’t make Katniss fall! I'm sorry, he gets excited when new people come over.”

"It's fine," I assure him.

I kneel down next to Peeta and reach my hand out to Bonsai, letting him sniff my hand. Before I know it, Bonsai is scooting in closer to me until he is close enough to set his paws on my legs, his face mere inches from mine.

“I think he likes you,” Peeta says, pulling Bonsai away from me. “That’s good news, because if Bonsai didn’t like you then I’d have to kick you out.”

“He’s adorable,” I say, reaching out to scratch Bonsai behind the ears.

“That’s Katniss, Bonsai. You know, the one I always talk to you about,” Peeta says to the dog. I can’t resist smiling the two of them. “You hungry, boy?”

Bonsai tears off across the apartment  and makes a swift right into what I can only imagine is the kitchen.

“I guess that’s a yes,” I laugh.

“I guess so,” Peeta says, standing up. He peels his jacket off and slings it over a dining room chair. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Normally, I’d say no, but suddenly I’m feeling very nervous. Sitting at a bar with Peeta talking about our soda preferences is one thing, being in his apartment with his dog is another. I feel like I’ve crossed a threshold that I can never uncross, and the implications of what that could mean has me tense for the first time since I walked into that bar tonight.

“Sure,” I nod, taking a deep breath. “Water is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Peeta asks, raising his eyebrows. “I have wine or beer if you’d like some.”

“No, it’s ok,” I assure him. “I have to drive home, and I have an early session in the morning.”

“I understand,” Peeta says with a nod. “Well, feel free to make yourself at home. I’ll be right back, I just have to feed this little meat head before he disowns me.”

“Take your time,” I call out after Peeta slips into the kitchen. I hear him talking to the dog happily as I take a look around his apartment.

The dining room is off to my left, and that's where I spot the sliding glass doors of Peeta’s balcony. Through the glass I can see a chair and small, white table set up. Peeta must spend a lot of time out there.

Peeta’s living room is a large, open floor plan with a closed door on each of the three walls. I help but wonder which one is his bedroom.

_Really, Katniss?_

As I make my way further into the living room, I pass the kitchen and peek inside quickly, finding Bonsai eagerly eating from his bowl while Peeta pours water from a pitcher into a tall drinking glass. Next to him on the counter appears to be a plate of fruit. I don’t stare in long enough for him to catch me. Instead, I keep moving and take a seat on Peeta’s couch to wait for him. It’s not long before I hear him mutter something to the dog again as he exits the kitchen with two glasses of water in his hands.

“I cut up some fruit too, but I couldn’t carry it all in at once,” Peeta explains setting the glasses down on the coffee table in front of me.

“I could have helped you,” I say.

“You’re a guest,” Peeta says, shaking his head. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns quickly, setting the tray down between the two glasses of water, sitting down next to me on the couch.

“I hope fruit is alright for now,” Peeta says.

“It’s fine,” I answer, grabbing for a chunk of pineapple. “I love pineapple.”

“So do I,” Peeta says, smiling widely and grabbing his own piece and popping it into his mouth.

“You have a really nice apartment,” I say, reaching for my glass of water.

“Thank you,” Peeta says once he’s swallowed his piece of pineapple. “I’ve been here about a year now. Had to get a two bedroom, so Bonsai could have his own room.”

I laugh loudly and settle into the couch, watching as Peeta turns his body toward mine and rests his shoulder against the back of the couch.

“I’m glad you made it out tonight,” Peeta says.

“Me too.”

“We kind of danced around meeting up for a while.”

Even though I don’t say it out loud, I agree with him, and deep down I know I waited for Peeta to ask me because I know that this is going to evolve into something I’m not sure I’m ready for. Against my better judgement, I open my mouth to speak.

“We’ve been dancing around a lot these last few weeks,” I tell him seriously.

Peeta’s face grows serious when he realizes what I’m talking about, and his hand wanders to the burn mark on his forearm.

“I didn’t want you to think that’s all I was about and all that I wanted from you,” Peeta explains.

I reach out and place my hand on Peeta’s forearm, snaking it up slowly until my hand covers his. I say nothing, but all I can think about is the day the subject of intimacy first came up.

The way we talked on the phone that morning, like two teenagers, asking each other questions and trying to push the envelope to the edge. It was oddly thrilling. There is something about Peeta that makes me feel safe to talk to about anything and everything.

When I look up at Peeta, I notice he has been staring at me. I ghost the tips of my fingers over his forearm again and watch him lick his lips.

“I do want it, though,” he says throatily **.** “I want it so badly.”

Peeta’s hand finds its way into the hair at the nape of my neck where he cradles my head and tilts it up slowly, just in time to meet his lips.

The kiss is slow. Peeta’s lips linger over mine as though he’s trying to commit them to memory. The sensation is so inviting, that I know we can’t stop here.

“Me too,” I murmur against Peeta’s lips.

“Bedroom?” He murmurs in return.

“Yes.”

As though a switch has been flipped, Peeta takes my hands in his and rises from the couch, pulling me up to stand. He leads me to a closed door on the same wall as the couch and throws it open, but is quick to close it again once we’re both inside.

“So the dog stays out,” he explains. “We don’t need an audience.”

A laugh springs from my throat, but is stopped abruptly when Peeta captures my lips again. The kiss is hungrier this time, and Peeta begins to walk forward, coaxing me to walk backward.

The backs of my legs hit his bed sooner than I was expecting, but Peeta’s hands are there, encircling my waist and keeping me standing. He drops his head down and hovers over my neck, warming the area with his breath before finally latching on. He sucks on the skin gently, wetting it further with his tongue.

My body already feels like it's on fire. The gentle way his mouth teases my neck allows me to feel every ounce of heat on his tongue, every pass it makes tickles in a way that has me clenching my thighs together, arousal rolling through me.

My hand snakes up behind Peeta’s head, rubbing his back with my palms and trailing my fingers upward, lightly grazing the back of his neck with my nails. I tilt my head back when Peeta switches sides, finding a new spot on my neck to appreciate for a short time before he moves his head away from my neck. He looks me right in the eyes and leans in, kissing me again.

Peeta’s kisses are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. He’s in command without having to prove it. Each peck is light as a feather, but ceaseless and fiery all the same, and when he pulls away, hovering just centimeters from my lips, I want to push my head forward and take his lips between mine, ensuring that they'll never leave again.

I grip Peeta’s waist when he pulls me into him and eliminates the space between our bodies. His hands roam up and down my back, and we exchange tranquil, open mouthed kisses as he eases me backward, lays me on the bed, and crawls on top of me.

Peeta makes quick work of my shirt, unbuttoning it expertly and leaving me in my bra when he buries his head in the crook of my neck again. He kisses the skin once then moves further down, kissing the exposed skin between my breasts where my bra doesn’t cover but doesn't stop there. He keeps moving down, finally stopping to push my bra up over my breasts. He flicks his tongue out, licking the swell of my breast and following it up with a kiss, repeating this back and forth rhythm for several minutes before licking a long line up my breast and capturing my nipple with his mouth.

Every nerve in my body seems to be on fire, and my wetness has begun to soak my panties, but the only thing I can focus on is the way Peeta’s mouth is working my nipple. I breathe heavily underneath him while his tongue circles the hardened nub before covering the area with his mouth again, and then, all at once, he stops and pushes himself off the bed.

I don’t protest -- I can’t. The look on Peeta’s face stops me from forming a coherent thought. His eyes are lustful as they sweep across my body and stop at my thighs. His hands follow, moving to the front of my jeans and popping the button. I lift my hips and help him pull my jeans off, relieved that he seems to have no plans to make me wait for this.

Peeta pushes my legs up and pulls my hips, bringing me closer to the edge of the bed and kneels down on the floor in front of me. I keep my legs up as he moves in and showers the backs of my thighs with light kisses, moving inward until he reaches my middle. My panties don’t stop him from continuing to kiss, and it only makes the warmth and wetness between my legs increase.

I close my eyes, lost in the feeling of Peeta’s mouth and tongue against my most sensitive spots and begin to squirm under him, wondering just how much better it’ll feel with my panties off.

Before I can tell Peeta to take them off, he’s pulled away again and is moving back on top of me, planting another lingering kiss to my lips. With Peeta’s hands planted on either side of me on the bed, I spread my legs, allowing his hips to fall between them just as he begins to grind into me. I grab onto Peeta’s upper arms as the roughness of his jeans presses against my middle, making me moan deeply.

It doesn’t take him long to shift again, back down to kneeling on the floor between my legs, his lips peppering kisses across my thighs. I’d be frustrated if it didn’t all feel so good.

With one swift motion, Peeta pulls my panties to the side and I feel his tongue sweep across my middle quickly -- I can’t stop the gasp when he does it a second time. I look down at him and meet his eyes, and I can see the hint of a smile playing on his lips just before he begins to press his tongue into my center and rub my throbbing bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb. His other hand moves up to my shoulder and pulls me down against his mouth repeatedly.

As I feel my orgasm building, I begin to grind against Peeta’s mouth, his tongue pushing in further each time my movements match his pulls on my shoulder.

“Peeta,” I gasp. “Don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

My words seem to push Peeta into overdrive. He moves his hands down to cup my ass and lift me up to his mouth as he begins to alternate between sucking on my nerve and pushing his tongue into my center. My toes curl when my orgasm claims me, and Peeta doesn't move from between my legs as I continue to move against his mouth shakily with each pulse of pleasure that courses through my body.

As I come down from my climax, Peeta finally moves himself away from my middle and stands back up. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him toward me, staring as he grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head.

I grab for Peeta’s belt and begin to unbuckle it hastily. He leans over me as I work, propping himself up with his hands until I’ve finally pulled the belt from his jeans and quickly pull the top button loose, running my hand over the noticeable bulge at the front of his pants.

Peeta hops back on the bed, grabbing my chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilting my head up to kiss me, but my hand never leaves his jeans. I slip my hand in past his boxer briefs and grab hold of his growing arousal as best as I can, squeezing it as Peeta’s tongue enters my mouth.

This round of kissing intensifies quickly, and Peeta takes my tongue into his mouth and sucks as he pushes his cock into my hands. His jeans are beginning to fall from his hips with the weight of my arm resting on the zipper, so Peeta moves off the bed once more to take them off completely, abandoning every piece of clothing he had on just moments before. I follow suit, pulling my panties off, getting up on my knees as I wait for Peeta to return.

Peeta is back on the bed quickly, walking over to me on his knees and taking my head in his hands. He kisses me with a smile as the space between our bodies diminishes and we are pressed flush together, skin to skin. I can feel him, half hard, against my thigh as our mouths tease one another and my hands fall to his hips.

I follow Peeta’s lead when he sits down on the bed and scoots back against the headboard. He takes himself in hand and begins to stroke slowly. The action is inviting and I soon find myself crawling between his legs.

Peeta stops stroking himself, but keeps his hand on his cock, guiding it into my mouth as I move down over it. Up until this point, Peeta has been pretty quiet, but the moment my mouth envelopes him and I begin to suck him in further, I hear him moan loudly, muttering something that I can’t quite make out.

I suck on him greedily, working up a quick and easy rhythm. Peeta still has his hand wrapped around his cock, but drops it and groans when I begins to suck hard on the head. He moves his hands behind him, pushing his lower half off the bed as he thrusts his hips upward, pushing himself further into my mouth.

I can feel him getting harder and harder by the minute, and he continues to push himself up further with his hands, until his face is so close to mine that he can kiss the top of my head. He begins thrusting harder, and I stop all movements and let him, moaning at just how hard he is now as his length passes my lips over and over again.

Peeta pulls back, and lifts my head up to meet him in a kiss.

“I don’t really want you to stop,” Peeta says breathlessly. “But I don’t want to finish yet, and I’m afraid I would’ve if you kept going.”

I laugh as Peeta rolls over onto his stomach and begins to rifle through his bedside drawer, eventually producing a condom.

“I knew I had one,” he says rolling onto his back again. “If not, it would have been kind of awkward walking into a drugstore with _this_.”

Peeta’s eyes fall to his erection, and mine follow until the sounds of the condom being unwrapped grabs my attention. I watch as Peeta pulls the condom from the foil wrapping and rolls it down over his erection. He hoists himself up onto his knees and descends on me, wrapping me up in his arms and kissing me tenderly before gently urging me to lay down on my back.

I look up at Peeta above me, anticipating what it’ll be like to finally have him inside of me after spending so many weeks thinking about it. At the moment, I can’t quite figure out why I was so resistant. Everything about this feels right -- like it was supposed to happen.

Peeta lifts and bends my leg while turning me to the side slightly. One hand rests on my thigh while the other disappears behind my leg.

Soon, I feel the head of Peeta’s cock push against my entrance, and in one smooth motion, he sheaths himself inside of me completely.

He starts out on his knees moving slowly, hissing when he pulls out, and groaning huskily when he pushes himself back in. It doesn't take him long to begin thrusting harder, using the grip he has on my leg a leverage.

I don’t try to stifle the moans that escape each time he drives into me, and Peeta smiles as he leans forward, bringing his faces inches from mine.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, continuing to thrust hard and quick.

I can’t seem to form a response. Instead, I nod wildly and gasp loudly when Peeta’s mouth covers my own. He shifts a little, trapping my leg between our bodies, straightening out his own legs before he pushes into me again. The difference is immediately noticeable. He’s so deep, and I can’t help but cry out in response to all of the new places he's reaching.

Peeta stops thrusting, and while still deep inside of me, he begins to move his hips from side to side. His cock rubs my walls in such a way that I barely even recognize the sound of my own voice when I beg him to make me come again.

His fingers find my sensitive nerve and he rubs small circles in time with his thrusts. It's not long before my walls are pulsing around his erection and his breath is coming out in ragged pants as he tries desperately to hang on until I’ve finished completely.

“I can’t,” Peeta whispers hoarsely. “I’m going to come.”

I grab the back of Peeta’s neck and I pull him down for one last kiss.

“Come for me,” I mutter against his lips.

Peeta’s hips freeze and he moans loudly as his orgasm rips through him, emptying into the condom. He stares down at me, breathless and sweating, mouth agape and arms shaking.

Eventually, Peeta pulls out and moves off the bed quickly to dispose of the condom. I’m shocked when he starts putting his clothes back on. Is he trying to send me a message? _I got what I wanted, now you can leave?_

“Oh,” Peeta says, when he notices the look on my face. “That really was the only condom that I had.”

“You’re going to go buy more?” I ask. “Right now?”

Peeta’s cheeks redden in response to my question and he walks over to me, tilting my chin up to look him in the eyes.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for tonight to end just yet,” he admits sheepishly.

Suddenly I feel like a fool for even questioning him when I realize that I’m not ready for the night to end, either. The longer I look at him, the more I want him again already.

“I’m not either,” I confess, kissing him tenderly.

“Do you want me to pick up anything for you?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head and letting him go, allowing him to finish getting dress. “Just hurry back.”

XXXX

I wake to the sound of an unfamiliar alarm buzzing loudly. Confused and disoriented, I sit up and attempt to take in my surroundings. I’m naked and in an unfamiliar bed, covered only in white sheets. It’s not until I look over and notice Peeta’s frame that I remember where I am, and the night we had together. He’s just beginning to stir and I see over his shoulder that the clock reads four AM.

My client will be waiting for me at six AM, so I get out of bed and begin to search for my clothes in the dark, unsure of which ones are Peeta’s and which ones are mine. Suddenly, the room is illuminated and I see Peeta sitting up in bed, the sheets covering only his lower half.

“It might be easier with a light,” he says, looking down at my hands. “Because I don’t think those will fit you.”

I look down and in my hands are Peeta’s boxer briefs. Peeta begins to laugh as he saunters over to me and plucks the article of clothing from my hands, slipping them on.

“Sorry my alarm goes off so early,” Peeta says apologetically. “Bakers hours. I’m going to make breakfast, did you want to stick around to eat a little bit?”

“I can’t,” I reply. “My client is on the other side of town and I have to meet her at at six, so it’s good that your alarm went off now. I need to get home to change and grab my things before I even head out that way.”

“Ahh,” Peeta says, nodding.

I dress silently. There doesn’t seem to be any awkwardness or regret between me and Peeta, but we are both clearly tired, and maybe a touch unfamiliar with each other’s morning routines, even though we’ve been planning our telephone conversations around them for weeks now.

More than anything, I can sense the uncertainty between us. Even though Peeta would never say it, I can tell he’s worried that this is it for us. As he walks me to the front door to say goodbye, I can see him searching my eyes for some type of sign that I want to see him again.

“Text me when you get to the bakery?” I ask him.

It’s all I can give him right now. I know I want to see him again, but telling him right now seems to be the hardest thing in the world for me to do. I need a few hours to clear my head before I jump into a conversation with Peeta.

“Of course,” Peeta smiles, seemingly satisfied with what I’ve said.

“Thanks for taking me out,” I say, rising up on my tiptoes to place a kiss on Peeta’s lips. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Peeta says goodbye and I’m out the door quickly. As I walk down the hall toward the elevators, I’m suddenly overcome with sadness because I have to leave so soon. I would have liked to stay and had breakfast with Peeta, maybe even a cup of coffee on his balcony. Instead I’m leaving before the sun even rises to ensure I’m not late for work.

Work seems to slow to a crawl after my session. All I can think about is spending time with Peeta again. Having that dinner this time, maybe even curling up and watching a movie with him. I was afraid that this would happen. It’s been one night and he is all I can think about already.

I refuse to lose myself because of him, but I can’t help but want to be near him. He is oddly calming and terribly charming. Just hearing his voice was nice before, but actually being with him is even better.

When my phone vibrates next to me and I see Peeta's name, the smile that ocertakes my face tells me one thing -- I’m doomed.

 


End file.
